Modesto author's book tells of segregation, family and finding faith

February is Black History Month, but Charlie Crane, 73, doesn't have to read about it, he's experienced it.

He is founding pastor of Greater True Light Baptist Church in west Modesto and chaplain at Hospice House at Samaritan Village in Hughson. He was born in Arkansas when segregation was the accepted way of life and where public facilities bore three signs: "white males," "white females" and "coloreds."

Even when he moved to Modesto in 1960, discrimination was rampant. Blacks "knew their place," Charlie said. They lived only on the west side of town. No businesses or government agencies hired them for anything other than menial jobs.

He details his life, family, discrimination and faith in his self-published book, "Image of a Black Father" (Xulon Press, $14.99). He sat down with The Bee last week to talk about his experiences. Here's what he said, with excerpts from his book in italics:

Charlie was born in Dumas, Ark., in 1936, the fourth child of St. Clair (Jab) and Cordie Crane. The family eventually would grow to 12 children.

The Cranes lived in a home with no electricity or indoor plumbing, and with plenty of cracks in the walls and roof. Charlie especially liked trailing after his dad, his hero throughout his life.

I'd think to myself, when I grow up I'm going to smoke Prince Albert tobacco and I'm going to chew my Days Work (chewing tobacco). I'm going to plow my mule, and I'm going to be just like Daddy.

Jab was a sharecropper. He raised mostly cotton and gave a share, usually half, of his crop's income to the landowner.

Charlie and his younger sister Dot were given from an early age what were called house chores, including feeding the chickens, milking the cow twice a day and churning butter once a week. As they got older, they also helped wash the family's clothes with lye and prepared meals with their mother.

In the evenings, the Crane family often gathered around the pot-belly stove in the winter or on the porch in the summer. Charlie's dad and his maternal grandfather, Paw, took turns dishing out stories and advice.

Many nights Jab repeated, "Guns and knives are used for hunting and gathering food for the table, not for protection. I never carry a gun or a knife for protection, because some fool will make me use them. I'd wind up killin' somebody, or they'd kill me. Either way, I lose. The only protection I used growing up, and even now, is a soft answer.

"Whenever you are asked a question, especially by a white man, answer softly." He'd add, "You boys do not look at, talk to or touch a white girl. These things are bad and could cost you your life. They will hang you."

Jab's tales of his rare trips to St. Louis sounded like fantasyland, a place where you could go into the front door of a movie theater, buy any kind of treat at the counter and be seated anywhere by an usher. It was a far cry from the theater in Dumas, where blacks went in a back doorway and climbed to the balcony, an area never cleaned.

Shopping was even more surprising, said Jab.

"In Dumas, you can't try on shoes. I went into a shoe store and started to try on a pair of shoes. The clerk said to me, 'You put your black foot in that shoe, I won't be able to sell it. If you try it on, by God you better buy it.' In St. Louis, you can go into a store and try on a pair of shoes, buy them if you want to. If they don't fit, you don't have to buy them."

During the 1940s, the war years, Jab was too old for military service. He decided to visit California with a cousin to see if he could find a better job. After a year, Jab was settled and returned for his family. But first, he took Charlie and Dot on a trip.